Enemy of My Enemy
by Aima D. Duragon
Summary: "What are you going to do with them?" Lucius asked. Voldemort peered over the railing into the cavern below, a sinister smile stretching his pale lips. "I'm going to play a game."


**A/N:** My entry for round 11 of the QLFC. If you have any questions...I'm probably not sure either. This is just what happened when I started typing.

 **Prompt:** Write a fic inspired by the movie Saw (2004).

 **Word Count:** ~2200

* * *

"What are you going to do with them?" Lucius asked.

Voldemort peered over the railing into the cavern below, a sinister smile stretching his pale lips. His captives were so far down that they looked like insects as they scurried around their tiny chambers. His gaze zeroed in on the boy in the center chamber, his black hair and lanky form recognizable to Voldemort even from his high perch.

Harry Potter.

Even now the name ignited something dark in the pit of Voldemort's stomach. His hand ached to grab his wand and strike the insolent maggot down right where he stood.

But there were bigger matters at play now.

Voldemort looked at Lucius and grinned. "I'm going to play a game."

* * *

~xOx~

* * *

"Hello, Harry Potter."

The boy whirled around, his emerald eyes going large behind cracked lenses.

"You," Harry whispered. "Of course it was you."

Voldemort inclined his head.

"Where are my friends? What have you done with them?"

Harry was the picture of fury — all balled fists and tightly corded muscles. Voldemort could practically feel the magic straining to break through the suppression collar he'd place around Harry's neck. It glowed a faint blue at the base of Harry's throat as the two opposing forces battled.

"Would you like to see them?" Voldemort asked, his voice soft and saccharine. "They're just beyond these walls. Surely you've heard them screaming for you."

A pale dread washed away Harry's insolence in one fell swoop. He glanced at the grey, blank wall to his left, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

Voldemort stepped towards him and extended out his hand. "I can take you to them."

In a flash of motion, Harry jerked back, distrust burning through the pinched line of his mouth.

Smiling, Voldemort lowered his hand. It didn't matter. He had time. "Very well," he said, and with a wave of his hand, Disapparated.

* * *

~xOx~

* * *

Even as the days passed, Voldemort never grew tired of watching him. Stripped of his companions, Harry really was quite a pitiful creature. He was all instinct and no brain. It was no wonder Dumbledore had loved him.

Harry was still trying to break down the walls that contained him through sheer force of will. As far as Voldemort could tell, there was no method to his madness. He would simply fly into frenzied spurts of punches and kicks, spurred on every time one of his friends unleashed a particularly gruesome scream. On and on it went, like clockwork.

"My Lord?"

Voldemort tilted his head, marveling the bright shade of crimson that stained Harry's knuckles. "Yes, Alecto?"

"The Ministry Coven has arrived. They're waiting for you in the dining hall."

"Of course." Voldemort pried his gaze away from his captives. "They best not be kept waiting."

* * *

~xOx~

* * *

Harry was an even stranger sight to behold when he slept. Voldemort glided in closer, his footsteps soundless against the stone floor. He crouched down over the boy — such a small thing still — and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. Harry was curled up on his side, head cradled in the crook of his arm while his other hand clutched at the fabric of his jumper. The skin on his knuckles was scabbed over and stained red. He looked so incredibly young.

Voldemort could scarcely recall what it was like to feel young anymore. And yet it seemed such a visible, tangible thing, as if he could reach out and pluck it from Harry's flesh if he wanted to. Slowly, Voldemort extended his hand, his fingertips ghosting along the fringes of the boy's hair. It was soft as down. His fingers glided along the length of Harry's forehead, coming to a stop just over the lightning-shaped scar.

Grinning, Voldemort pushed against the mark.

A scream tore through the silence. In a flurry of movement, Harry propelled himself away from him, a dull thump sounding as his back collided with the wall. Wide, terrified eyes stared at him as the collar around Harry's neck burned an angry blue.

"Do you know why you're here?" Voldemort asked.

Harry blinked. His breath was coming in rapid spurts now, rushing in and out through parted lips. "What?"

"Do you know why you're here?" Voldemort repeated slowly, as if he was talking to a small and particularly dim-witted child.

"I—I don't understand."

"It's a simple yes or no question."

Harry clenched his jaw, the first embers of rebellion burning in his emerald gaze.

Voldemort inched forward and watched with delight as those embers died. "You do know," he said. "I thought you might not, but you do."

Harry didn't move.

"We're more alike than you may care to admit, boy."

Like lightning striking, the fire in Harry's eyes reignited. "I'm _nothing_ like you."

Chuckling, Voldemort rose to his feet. "We'll see..."

* * *

~xOx~

* * *

The Coven Master folded her hands on the table, blatantly ignoring her glass of wine. "You need the votes from the public if you want any real claim on the Ministry."

"I know," Voldemort said.

"And it needs to be official. The governments on the continent will not abide an unelected dictatorship."

"I know," Voldemort said.

The Coven Master's eyes narrowed. "Forgive me, but you certainly sound confident. There aren't as many purebloods as there used to be, my Lord."

"I know," Voldemort said.

"So then..."

Voldemort smiled. "I happen to have an ace up my sleeve."

* * *

~xOx~

* * *

"What are you doing to my friends?"

The demand was flung at him the moment Voldemort appeared in the room. He paused for a moment, evaluating the delicate creature that stood before him. Lifting his chin, Voldemort raised his wand. Magic coursed through his veins and folded itself neatly into the tip of his wand.

Harry's eyes went wide as his feet left the ground. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort hurtled the boy across the room, slamming him into the far wall. His body collided with a sickening thud before sliding back to the floor.

"I'm baffled by the power you think you hold here," Voldemort hissed.

Arms trembling, Harry pushed himself up. When his face lifted, Voldemort caught the glint of blood slithering down the curve of his cheek. "What are you doing to them?" Harry's voice was a cacophony of gravel and rage.

The sneer that crawled its way up Voldemort's throat was downright feral. "Why don't I show you?"

With another wave of Voldemort's wand, the walls of Harry's room turned to glass.

Harry turned where he stood, taking in the spectacle. His friends were partitioned in narrow rooms all around him, most of them tucked into corners with their knees drawn up to their chests.

"Ron?" Harry broke out into a run, slamming against the glass wall and pounding his fists against it. "RON!"

The red-haired boy on the other side paid him no mind.

"Ron it's Harry! Can you hear me? Ron! It's—"

"He can't hear you," Voldemort explained. "Nor can he see you. Each room is its own isolated environment."

Harry whirled on him. "So you've created a prison for us then?"

Voldemort tilted his head. "Call it whatever you like. It makes little difference to me."

"What the hell do you want?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort slipped his hand into his breast pocket and pulled out the latest copy of the Daily Prophet. He threw it down at Harry's feet. "I want you to make a decision."

Harry stared down at the paper, his eyes fixated on the headline. "No. Tell me you didn't..."

"All I did was follow the path Dumbledore was already leading us down," Voldemort said.

"Are you _insane_?"

Voldemort swallowed back the instinctual urge to tear Harry's tongue from his mouth. "Now, isn't it curious that you would ask me that? Isn't it your side that claims we have nothing to fear from Muggles?"

"You killed nearly a dozen of them in broad daylight! Of course they're going to retaliate!"

"On the contrary, the spells I was casting were quite harmless until I was attacked. The deaths that occurred after that point were merely in self-defense."

"What the hell are you playing at?" Harry screamed, his face flushed. "Or are you trying to start another war that you can't possibly win?"

Voldemort smiled. "You see? You understand so much already..."

Harry stared at him, shaking like a kettle ready to boil over.

"I want to play a game," Voldemort said. "It's a simple game, really, but I can't imagine that you'll find it easy."

Voldemort raised his wand and pressed the tip to his throat. "Attention. This is the Dark Lord speaking."

All around them, Harry's friends lifted their heads.

"In approximately two minutes, the door to your chamber will open and an armed Muggle will enter. Since I am a merciful lord, I will provide you with the opportunity to defend yourself — a wand."

Suddenly, several of the captives scrambled to their feet, clutching at the wands that had just appeared.

"However," Voldemort continued, "as you will quickly realize, the collars I've placed around your necks will allow you only one spell. I hope that none of you have any doubts about which spell that is. Defend yourselves, or die. You have two minutes to decide."

Voldemort lowered his wand, his gaze transfixed on Harry. They held each other's gaze, neither willing to break.

"You can't do this," Harry whispered.

"This was always going to happen. It's the one thing your side can't seem to understand. There is never going to be a world that isn't divided between those with magic, and those without it, and those without it will never be able to understand or accept the power that we hold. And they outnumber us a thousand to one. What chance will we ever have if we waste our time hiding in the shadows, squabbling amongst each other like children."

"You don't know that! You don't know that they'll hate us!"

"They hated you, didn't they?" Voldemort seethed. "Your family — or what was left of it?"

Harry looked as if he'd just been struck. "That's...that's not—"

"How about we play those odds, then? Simply say the word and I'll strike down every Muggle that walks through those doors. Or don't...and see what happens."

Tears slipped over Harry's cheeks. "Please don't do this."

"How many of them are you willing to lose?" Voldemort asked. His eyes darted to the chamber that held the girl with sad eyes and fiery red hair. "Or perhaps it's rather which one?"

Harry rushed at him.

With a wave of his hand, Voldemort swept him aside like a ragdoll. Such a pathetic attempt.

The boy scrambled back to his feet, his teeth bared. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want you to decide. And you only have thirty seconds left to do so."

"No! You want something else! Just tell me what it is and I'll do it, okay? As long as you stop this I'll do whatever you want!"

"Without this decision, what I want from you means nothing," Voldemort snapped, his skin barely containing the fury that whorled within him. "So what's it going to be? Us, or them?"

Harry fell to his knees, his chest heaving as he sobbed. "Please! Stop!"

"You have ten seconds."

"I can't! Please! I can't."

"Five. Four."

Something in Harry was starting to crack. "Don't do this!"

"Three. Two."

The collar around his neck was glowing, so full of energy that Voldemort could hear it vibrating against Harry's collarbones. "Please..."

"One."

The doors swung open and the world seemed to hold a collective breath.

A gunshot fired, shattering the silence. Followed by another. And another.

Then Voldemort saw it — the metamorphosis. In a blink, Harry had snapped

"Kill them," Harry said.

Voldemort heard the words as if they were beating in his own heart. Green flashed, and the muggles fell to the ground in the span of a breath.

Silence ensued.

Voldemort swept forward, enveloping Harry in warm, soothing waves of magic. "You did well," he whispered. "So very well."

Harry was trembling, threatening to break beneath the weight of what had just transpired.

"That instinct that led you to make your decision tonight — you need to trust it. Magic is precious. So few of us recognize it anymore, but you do, Harry. You understand...and you can help others understand."

Harry looked at him. Something about his eyes reminded Voldemort of the color Nagini's scales when they glinted insunlight. "Others?"

* * *

~xOx~

* * *

The Coven Master's mouth pinched. "An ace?"

Voldemort lifted his wine glass, sipping the aromatic liquid. "Earlier today, I visited London Square and performed a series of charms that the surrounding Muggles apparently found...disturbing. Needless to say, casualties ensued."

The other witches at the table exchanged glances, their frames growing tense.

"The wizarding world cannot survive if it cannot recognize its true enemy. If I need to be the catalyst for that realization, then so be it."

The Coven Master stood, her brows drawn and her limbs shaking. "You must send out a containment team at once! You'll destroy us all!"

Voldemort took another sip of his wine. "No. I'm going to save us from ourselves."


End file.
